A Fairy Tale
by merciki
Summary: Throughout the Fairy Realm it is understood that being seen by a human is almost always fatal. Humans, or the big ones anyway, don't believe in the creatures of the Little World anymore. A single glance from a non-believer would result in the sure death of the Fairy. That is the reason why humans never see Fairies anywhere. But, if you listen carefully, sometimes you can


_Throughout the Fairy Realm it is understood that being seen by a human is almost always fatal. Humans, or the big ones anyway, don't believe in the creatures of the Little World anymore. A single glance from a non-believer would result in the sure death of the Fairy. That is the reason why humans never see Fairies anywhere._

 _But, if you listen carefully, sometimes you can hear them sing._

 _This is the story of one little Fairy of the Forest._

* * *

It was the same routine, every day. She checked on the animals or the trees, helping a small bush here to find some light, a gosling there to find the courage to fly.

But she didn't live for her daily chores, for her duties as a forest fairy.

No. She lived for the sunsets. For the colors of the sky when the sun painted it; pink and red flames, violet and orange rays, blue and black shades.

Because almost every evening, he was there, outside of his house at the edge of the forest, painting, or sipping tea, watching the sunset.

Sometimes Katniss dared come closer, but only when he was deep in thought, so lost in his mind or so focused on drawing that he wouldn't notice her.

She always flew cautiously, taking the utmost care to not be spotted, coming as close to him as she dared, just to take a glimpse, closer, checking if his hair was really the color of wheat, or if his eyes were as blue as her dreams whispered. She could never check the latter, as facing him would mean making her visible, and that was the one rule she wasn't ready to break.

Every single fairy of the realm knew being seen by a human meant an immediate death. These big walking humans weren't believers anymore, couldn't stand the view of a little fairy flying away, dismissing their existence with a wave of the hand–killing the fairy with it.

She knew she was taking a huge risk coming so close to him, but she would have given her star–her heart of hearts, the piece of her soul she knew belonged to him–, her wings and her realm, just to feel his hands touch her face, for a second–a whole eternity–the way his brushes caressed the canvases he painted.

He was an artist, living just on the edge of her forest, the forest her family guarded. She knew every path and pond, every bloom and animal, and she cared for them every single day.

She had never cared for the world of humans, save the occasional passersby, but they never looked for her. Some were there to watch the trees or harvest the mushrooms, and some were hunters looking for food, never looking for fairies.

They were non-believers.

She had learned to be more careful with the little humans, because they could see her if she wasn't paying attention, still believing the tales of the fairies in books and legends throughout years and centuries.

He was a painter, someone gifted enough to look at a scenery to put it on a canvas. She had seen many of his paintings in the time he had lived here. She could remember his early days at the edge of the forest, when a blonde woman accompanied him, all smiles and gentle touches. But one day, she wasn't there anymore, and all the little things she owned disappeared too.

Soon after, he left. Long weeks during which Katniss wondered if he would ever come back, during which she started exploring his house, room after room, painting after painting.

He had captured her forest and her trees so well she sometimes expected the birds to start singing, or the leaves to whisper their slow song. He had managed to render the sun as radiant as it was; a fury of red and pinks, in which she lost herself for what seemed like hours, almost fearing getting burnt by the explosion of colors on the canvas.

She spent all her free time there getting to know him, going from PM to P Mellark, to discovering his name was Peeta. Peeta. She liked how the sound rolled out of her mouth, how it started so high up, falling from the sun to finish lower, down to the ground of the forest, where her trees were growing.

He came back, one day, unexpectedly. She had slept in his house - she didn't take much space–when she heard him whistling, humming something joyous. She had barely flown away from his house in time, but her heart was beating so loudly in her chest she thought all the other fairies around would hear it.

Katniss couldn't keep her joy at bay, couldn't hide how happy she was that her human was back, that her painter was here again, that she would share the sunsets with him–even though he would never know she was there.

She went to their sunset meetings, watching him paint whenever she could peek at his work around her own chores.

He started a bigger painting than usual, one that was as big as he was. Maybe he was painting the blonde woman from before? She couldn't know, not daring to get close enough to him to look at the painting.

One night, she took her usual path to the edge of the forest, the one that passed near the old willow tree she checked on several times a day, just to enjoy the feel of his leaves. She was a forest fairy, taking her strength from the woods, breathing in the smell of the leaves, of the blooms of the flowers, bathing in the light coming through the canopy.

She flew to the large clearing near the field of dandelions as quickly as her small wings would allow her, wanting nothing more than to see him, to see her painter, for a few minutes tonight before going home. It was like he was an interlude in her day, the meadow she could unwind in, the few moments when she could breathe and rest, indulge herself in the sight of him, relaxed, looking at the sun.

She would never touch him, twine her fingers through his or ruffle her hand through his hair. Never discover what smell lingered under the scent of cinnamon and cedar, or really see the color of his eyes. She knew they were blue, but which shade? There laid the question.

When she made it to the edge of the forest, to the last of the trees - an old oak that smiled kindly at her every night - she found he wasn't there yet.

A little disappointed, she decided to settle on the branch the oak tree laid for her, sitting there and waiting.

And waiting.

Waiting.

The sky didn't glow as much as it usually did.

There were no clouds to mar the beauty of it, nothing.

But it wasn't as beautiful when she was alone.

It wasn't as radiant or as fierce.

For the first time in her life, nature was dull.

Night had fallen, the stars shining high in the dark blue sky, when she finally decided to move away from her tree.

She knew he was there. The lights in the house were on, moving from one room to another, and music started playing at some point.

Why hadn't he come out like every other day? Even the days when he didn't paint, he sat outside at sunset on the stairs leading to his porch, sipping a mug of tea (green leaves and red fruits, she noticed).

Maybe something was wrong?

She gathered all her courage, spread her wings, and gave her thanks to the oak tree before flying to the back windows of his house. Peeking inside, she saw him, sitting in a comfortable armchair, holding a book, a cup of steaming tea on the table beside him. But he wasn't reading. His eyes were lost somewhere else, deep inside himself.

She was so relieved to see him healthy and well that she nearly left without noticing it.

The long canvas was in the corner of the room, not too far away from where he was resting and half covered with a cloth. She almost missed the white dress peeking out, the cascade of dark ebony hair on which butterflies had landed, or maybe were threaded through.

But what really captivated her was the eye, a right eye, looking straight at her, as the head painted on the canvas was slightly turned, hiding the other part of the woman's face. Mercury or silver, she couldn't tell. It depended on the light of the room, on the light of the sun playing with them. Just like her own.

So much like her own.

So much like her own that they drew her in. She needed to uncover the full portrait, even if it meant using all her dust to do so.

She gave no thought to the man sitting close by. She needed to get inside the house now, to look at this woman, to discover who she was.

She circled the house she now knew so well, looking for a ruffling of the curtains, that breath of air that would allow her to pass, a door left open, a hole in the roof, until she found her way in. He always slept with the windows open, allowing her to sweep inside the house, flying quickly downstairs. It was like the image of the woman on the easel was calling her, urging her to look at it.

She flew into the room. Peeta was no longer there, but she could hear him in the kitchen.

She relaxed, edging closer to the portrait in the corner of the living-room.

Gathering her powers, she sent all of the fairy dust she had toward the cloth covering the painting, seeing it lift until it fell in a heap on the hardwood floor.

Both of her hands went to her mouth, covering it, as if to prevent any sound escaping. Not that he could hear her anyway.

In front of her, on the canvas, she could see herself.

Not herself, she corrected quickly, a better version of her. Human. Smiling shyly, her mouth almost hidden, as the painting was made from her back, her mane of dark hair falling, flowers and butterflies laced in it. Her back was covered by a simple white dress, hanging by tiny straps from her shoulders. Her face was mostly hidden by the perspective he used, but it was her. She recognized the lines of her face, the texture of her skin.

She was there, in front of herself, without her wings. How was that even possible? How could he have drawn her, having never seen her?

"I saw you, several times, you know? You always came with the sunset, flying above the big branch of the oak tree." His voice, rich, smooth, and deep, made her jump when she heard it. How could he see her?

Why was she not dead now?

"I left to learn about you and the fairies. I didn't want to harm you."

"How am I not dead? You're looking at me" She whispered, not even sure he could hear her. "You're not a believer…"

She felt something warm under her feet, something soft too. She looked down, seeing it was his hand that was now supporting her.

Sapphire. That's what came to her mind as his face leaned closer to her, giving her the perfect vantage point to see his eyes - at long last.

If hers were the color of the moon, then his were the Earth, full of life, full of passion, stories untold. Full of love.

"Do you want me to say the words?"

Did she? Did she want him to say the words that would mean leaving her fairy life behind, forever?

Was she ready to leave her life in the forest for this man?

She realized it wasn't even a question. There would always be woods in her life. She could always find them.

But without this man, could she live?

Could she survive without him?

"Will you tell me your name, Beautiful?"

She could either give him her name and face the consequences, or give him another and see him disappear into the shadows of the night.

The answer was obvious. She nodded.

"Katniss." She had flown to his ear to scream it, hoping he would understand.

He nodded. "Katniss. Are you ready?"

She was.

"I believe in you, Katniss."

She always thought the transformation would be something painful, unnatural. But the feeling taking over her was so comforting–a rightness, a sense of fulfillment she never ever experienced before. It wasn't like the tales of the old fairies, warning of glitter and fireworks, pain and suffering.

No, it was like growing up.

Even losing her wings didn't hurt.

All of the pain and suffering would have been worth it though, worth the look on Peeta's face as he took her in for the first time, really seeing her, all dark hair and grey eyes.

She could feel it, the love pouring out of him for her to catch.

She never had imagined being the prey could feel so good.

She drank him all in, blond curly hair, blue eyes, a smile so bright it would outshine the sunset, his sunset.

"There you are," he whispered. "You're not a fairy anymore…. Will you forgive me?"

"Always," she said back, discovering her human voice for the first time. And she meant it.

She knew her life was beginning right in that moment, with him.

She was finally where she belonged.

* * *

My deepest thanks to xerxia for betaing this story :) She did an amazing job.  
And to akai-echo over there on Tumblr who made a beyond gorgeous banner for this little story.

If you liked the story, please do tell :)

I'm thegirlfromoverthepond on Tumblr.


End file.
